


Burning Through the Sky

by LittleMissGG



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Barebacking, Dirty Talk, M/M, Rough Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:56:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissGG/pseuds/LittleMissGG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy and Chekov are trapped in sickbay and the heat is building *cue porn music*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Through the Sky

McCoy’s burning up, his skin prickly and sharp. He closes his eyes and swipes the back of his hand over his forehead. This is not quite his worst nightmare but it’s definitely edging close - made worse by the fact that he has an eighteen year old ensign watching his every move, babbling away under his breath half terrified.

At least the lights are on now. It’s a small mercy that he keeps repeating like a mantra. The lights are on. Which is infinitely better than the twenty-two minutes in which they were NOT on and he’d been certain he could feel the oxygen seeping out of the room, inching him ever closer to the fatal vacuum of space.

“D-d-doctor?” McCoy rolls his head to face Chekov, the back of his skull pressed to the smooth white wall. His arms are resting over his knees, sitting in just his vest and black pants since the environmental controls are obviously shot all to hell and it’s stifling in here.

“What is it ensign?” Chekov is still in his uniform shirt which McCoy notices now is sticking to him, soaked through with sweat. He notices more now he’s looking; Chekov’s pale face, rapid blinking, hands twisting in his lap. “Chekov? Pavel what’s wrong?”

“I-I-” Chekov squeezes his eyes shut and pulls a face like maybe he has a toothache, like there’s something scraping inside his head. “Headache. My head…”

McCoy scrambles over the space between them and starts looking the ensign over, checking for head wounds or mysterious rashes. Nothing. He looks around for a penlight and finds one beneath the cabinet he’d been standing at before- before…

He flashes it, first in one eye, then the next. Chekov’s pupils react as expected although he pulls away from the light a little. “We’re trapped.” His voice is small and shaking, sounding every bit the eighteen year old he is and not the cocky Starfleet officer he usually comes across as. “We’re trapped in here. We… What if… There’s no way out. I have… Doctor the door is jammed and there is no help for forty-two minutes and no communication and we’re trapped…”

Marvellous. McCoy rolls his eyes not unkindly and places one hand over Chekov’s and the other on the side of his neck where he can feel the kids pulse running a mile a minute. “Ensign, listen to me. We’re going to be fine. The rest of the crew will be working to get us out as we speak. You think Captain Kirk’d just leave us down here?” McCoy manages a weak smile and catches the Ensign’s eye. Chekov shakes his head a little and takes a deep breath, covering McCoy’s hand with his own. “You’re burning up kid, why not get that shirt off before you dehydrate?”

Chekov wriggles out of the shirt and his vest all in one, his pale chest flushed, rising and falling fast. McCoy struggles to his feet and staggers across to one of the medical cases nearby. He’s sure it must be his imagination but the floor feels uneven; he feels like he’s veering off to one side, and he doesn’t want to think about the kind of damage that needs to be done to throw the ship off balance like that.

He rummages through the cabinet until he finds the neon blue ice-packs and turns back to Chekov who is still sat awkwardly on the floor. McCoy snaps one of the bags in half and presses it to his own neck as it starts to cool, the bag turning to ice. He sits down beside Chekov again and presses the bag to the back of his neck. The ensign jumps and then relaxes, leans into the press of the ice cool bag.

“There. Much better right?” McCoy avoids watching the sweat and condensation running rivulets down Chekov’s back, tracing the path of his spine down to where his pants are riding low on his hips. He licks his lips and presses firmer against Chekov’s neck before easing it away and pressing it against his forehead. Chekov’s eyes close, his lips parted as he moans gently.

“Much better. Thank you Doctor.” The Ensign reaches up and takes the ice-pace from McCoy’s hands, their fingers brushing slightly as he does. McCoy nods curtly, suddenly feeling a little exposed and shuffles back on the floor, pressing his now ice-cold hand to his forehead. He presses his back up against the wall again and lets his head fall back, he stares at the ceiling for a few minutes before letting his eyes drift shut.

There’s no noise. That’s the disconcerting thing. No explosions, no weapons fire. No shouts or screams or comms; no-one trying to get in. The engine is still a low hum beneath them, still a constant presence, which is a small comfort at least. When McCoy next opens his eyes he finds Chekov much closer, legs sprawled out now, looking more at ease. He’s watching again but this time with a more familiar look and McCoy groans.

“Oh no you don’t. Don’t do this to me now. I mean it Chekov-”

“What? I have no idea what you are talking of Doctor-” Chekov can’t stop the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Not now. I have little enough patience for it at the best of time and this? Definitely not the best of times.”

Chekov merely chuckles and shrugs one shoulder, moving his ice pack under his chin and then down his chest. McCoy resolutely does not notice the way his nipples tighten, the way his happy trail is dark with sweat and ice water. 

It’s been going on for a while, this oh-so-subtle seduction attempt. Chekov turns up at unexpected times during the week, settles next to McCoy in the mess, finds him in corridors and walks with him. It’s almost fun, not that it’s something McCoy will ever admit too, the way Chekov is never discouraged, never put off but McCoy’s gruff words and sandpaper exterior. And right now Chekov looks like he’s finally found the perfect opportunity. No where for McCoy to rush off to, no doors to close in his face, no emergency to attend to.

“Doctor, I am simply relieved to be in your company at such a challenging time. You are so very capable, I’m certainly in very good hands.”

At that McCoy arches an eyebrow and keeps his mouth firmly shut. Chekov edges closer, as though watching to see if McCoy will spook and try and move away. Finally he settles one hand over McCoy’s knee, the pads of his fingers pressing firmly to the muscle and kneading oh so slightly.

“Chekov?” The ensign tips his head to one side, listening intently with a faint smile on his lips. “Pavel, listen to me. I am far too old for this, and too old for you. I’m not sure what it is that you’re after—”

“Doctor. Please, I am very well aware that you are not my age - I am not my age. I am youngest Starfleet pilot in history of Starfleet, no? I do not need an eighteen year old lover.”

McCoy tries very hard to not think about Pavel’s lips forming that word - lover - and also tries to melt into the wall behind him to try and get away from Chekov’s hot palms edging up his leg. The thing that’s been holding McCoy back - other than fact that he’s old enough to… he’s old enough to _know better_ \- is that Chekov seems so sweet and innocent under that cocky facade. McCoy’s not one for hand holding and while he enjoys gentleness and can be tender when it’s needed he’s certainly not prepared to be some kind of twisted mentor in the bedroom. Only Chekov certainly doesn’t seem like the awkward virginal type right now. Sidling up to McCoy with a cheeky grin on his face, his fingers tripping along the Doctor’s inseam.

“Way I see it? We’re alone, could be hours before rescue. Should keep up our morale, no?” McCoy can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him at that and he moans, tipping his head back and questioning his sanity. Chekov’s hand edges closer to his crotch and he grabs the kid’s wrist, bones delicate under his huge palm.

“Chekov, you’re just a little hyped up on adrenaline. You’ll calm down - “

“I can handle adrenaline, Doctor. I navigate best and biggest ship in Starfleet - me and adrenaline are good friends.”

Somewhere a little light in McCoy’s head flashes suggesting perhaps he’s been had, perhaps Chekov just needed an excuse for getting topless. Well, he’s had it now and he’s taking full advantage. He crawls closer, one wrist still held fast in McCoy’s grip, and straddles the Doctor’s out stretched legs. Now he’s here McCoy can’t help looking - porcelain skin, sculpted cheek bones, blood red lips bitten and full.

“Ah fuck it.” McCoy leans in and kisses him hard, all teeth and raw need. He eventually lets go of Chekov’s wrist and wraps both arms round the kid, one hand palming his ass through his regulation pants and the other smearing the sweat across his back.

When they pull apart Chekov looks like he just won the grand prize and he wriggles in McCoy’s lap, an unmistakable little hitch of his hips, pressing himself to McCoy’s stomach.

“Doctor - I have wanted you for longest time.”

“Yeah and you were none too subtle about it either kid.” McCoy groans deep in his chest when Chekov sucks at his neck, teeth hard and insistent against the skin.

“I do not know this word - subtle. Is not important.” Chekov pulls open the fly of his pants with one hand and grabs McCoy’s hand, shoving down the front of his uniform and rutting up against it. McCoy curses loudly and can’t help his fingers curling loosely over the length of him, still confined by underwear.

“You sure picked a perfect time to make your move, Chekov.”

“No distractions, no excuses. Just you, Doctor. Perfect timing.” Chekov grins again and then lets his mouth fall open on a moan when McCoy tightens his fingers just a fraction. Then he’s wriggling again, somehow stripping away the black uniform pants and leaving himself clothed in just his underwear.

McCoy groans again and grabs a hold of Chekov’s ass, tipping him back so that he’s laid out on the floor, McCoy hovering over him. He thumbs one of Chekov’s nipples, then leans down to bite it, then lays a line of bite marks, just this side of too hard, all the way down the kid’s chest, right up until he reaches the waistband of his tightie-whitie underwear.

“This what you wanted? Hmm? To be spread out on the medbay floor like a slut?” McCoy can’t stop himself now, the heat is impossible and sweat runs down his chest and falls heavy onto Chekov’s perfect skin. The ensign writhes beneath him, nodding and murmuring. McCoy is addicted to the sight of his big, tanned hands against the supple, pale skin of the Chekov’s chest.

“I want more. I want you, Doctor.” Chekov hitches his fingers into McCoy’s vest and hauls it off over his shoulders. Next his pants, fumbling with the fly button before finally opening it and shoving them impatiently off McCoy’s hips along with his boxers. The Doctor helps, pushing them all the way off but giving up when they end up tangled around one foot. He turns to Chekov just as he’s twisting out of his own underwear, his legs bent up so her can pull them off his foot. McCoy growls and leans in, licking the hot, wet skin on the inside of his thighs. Chekov moans and lays back, legs spread wide and his long, red cock now laying hard against his stomach.

“God, every part of you is pretty isn’t it?” McCoy smirks as he licks the underside of Chekov’s cock. The ensign bucks and moans, a blush forming on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the heat in the medbay.

“What do you want? C’mon Chekov, you’ve been working so hard for it, better tell me what you need.”

Chekov moans again, bucks up when McCoy lays a lazy stripe over his balls and then up his cock, licking around the head but never giving him more.

“Fuck me Doctor. I want you to hold me down and fuck me.” Chekov’s voice is all sweet and innocence but his eyes are dark as he looks down between his spread thighs at McCoy. It’s truly shocking to hear him he say something so fifthly and the result is that McCoy’s breath rushes out of his lungs all in one go and he growls again, surging up and kissing Chekov so hard their teeth clash.

He takes a minute to just indulge in kissing, licking his way from Chekov’s filthy mouth across his jaw, licking at the sweat pooled along his collar. Finally he sits back up and takes in the sight of the flushed ensign, spread open on the floor before him and wonders if maybe he hit his head on the way down and this is the afterlife - he wonders what he did so right to deserve it.

“Don’t move.” He manages to grind out between clenched teeth as he struggles to his feet, kicking off his pants from one foot before slamming through over turned medical cabinets to find lube. Were he a sensible man he might also take the time to try and find a condom but the naked, sweating Russian _wunderkind_ on the floor suggests he’s not a sensible man.

When he makes it back Chekov is still laid out on the floor, only this time he’s sucking on two fingers and stroking his cock slowly, not getting anywhere with it just putting on a show - he knows it’s working too because he’s grinning round the width of those two fingers, heels tucked up tight under his ass so he’s as exposed as possible.

“I said don’t move.” McCoy kneels back down and bats the kid’s hands away. “Very soon I’m gonna see how much you can fit in this filthy mouth.” He adds two of his own fingers to Chekov’s mouth and watches his lips stretch round the width, eyes closing as he moans. “But right now I have more important plans.”

He hauls Chekov’s legs over his own and rips open the sachet of lube with his teeth, spitting the top out and dripping the contents over Chekov’s hole. It’s obscene and wet and McCoy isn’t sure where the dominant bastard in him came from but it feels too good to stop. He smears his fingers through the lube and then rubs it over Chekov’s hole, never quite giving him what he’s looking for. He leans forward, bending Chekov almost in half and then finally shoves two fingers in at once, stretching the tight ring of muscle and making Chekov cry out deliciously.

“That feel good? I figured you’d like it a little rough, I figure beneath this sugar sweetness you’re a little _whore_ \- aren’t you?”

“Oh God - yes!” Chekov bucks and writhes on two fingers, reaching down to hold himself open even as he turns his face away from McCoy’s words. McCoy fucks him hard on just two fingers, scissoring them open as he pulls out and watching the tight ring of Chekov’s hole stretch beautifully for them. He purposely avoids the kid’s prostate, watching him get off on nothing more than being filled and fucked and finally adds a third finger, just to torture him. Eventually he can’t take the torture himself, Chekov’s beautiful lithe body wriggling and moaning beneath him. He pulls his fingers free and rubs a little of the excess lube over his cock.

McCoy grabs hold of Chekov’s thigh, fingers no doubt leaving little fingerprint sized bruises and then he’s pushing in, feeding his cock into that tight little hole and Chekov just moans for it, back arched, fingers dug deep in McCoy’s shoulders, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’.

“Doctor - yes!”

“Jesus H. Christ.” McCoy wants to tell the kid to call him something other than Doctor, but he realises that it’s just another part of the whole sordid scene and he closes his eyes as he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against Chekov’s perfect ass. Neither of them move for a few seconds, both holding still until Chekov whines high in his throat.

“Doctor, fuck me now, please!”

McCoy is pretty much entirely powerless to do anything but as he told - pulling his hips back and slamming home again and again. He can’t get the right purchase so he sits back on his heels, drags Chekov across the floor and hooks his heels over his shoulders before slamming back in and… _there_. Chekov screams, wails as he slams his fist into McCoy’s shoulder, begging and babbling in a language McCoy doesn’t have to understand to know means yes, please and more.

McCoy pounds at the kid’s sweet spot, grabbing one of Chekov’s wrists and just holding him down, snapping his hips a hard as he can manage. Chekov writhes and moans, sweat glistening over every inch of skin, his legs slipping and sliding off McCoy’s shoulders every now and then.

“Doctor - “ He moans, desperate. “I— I am—- I will—” And then his back is arching so beautifully off the floor and he’s shoving himself back on McCoy’s cock as hard as he can as he paints his own stomach with come, his cock jerking and spilling without even being touched. McCoy lets out a low whistle, not sure even he was that eager for it, even at eighteen.

“Cockslut.” McCoy doesn’t know where that came from but it makes Chekov moan and blush, letting his legs fall from McCoy’s shoulders and just lay spread open for him. McCoy takes it as the invitation it’s so obviously supposed to be and slams home again, grinding his cock as deep as he can as he races for his own orgasm.

Chekov watches him through heavy lidded eyes, murmuring encouragement even though he must be a little sore by now. It’s not the words that get McCoy there however - it’s the way Chekov idly runs his fingers through the mess on his stomach and then raises his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean with a wicked glint in his eye. McCoy comes hard, hips stuttering without warning as he comes inside Chekov, a raw noise pulled from his chest as he does.

They lay quiet and still for a moment before McCoy pulls out slowly and Chekov hisses at the sensation, moaning beautifully when McCoy presses his fingers to his hole to make sure he’s not damaged in any real sense. It’s with almost unreal timing that just as McCoy opens his mouth to say… anything - there’s a beep at the door.

“Bones? Bones you in there? You okay?”

“Captain Perfect Timing strikes again.” Bones mutters before staggering to his feet and hooking up his pants. He makes it to the comm at the door, Chekov laying naked and satisfied, watching him go.

“Jim?” Before Bones can launch into a tirade about being abandoned in the medbay the Captain is letting out a relieved sigh over the intercom.

“Dear lord Bones! Are you okay? What the hell. We’ve been trying to beam you out for the last fifteen minutes but we couldn’t get a lock. What the fuck happened?”

Bones turns and shoots Chekov a glare but the ensign just shrugs his shoulders and grins, managing to climb off the floor naked and still look graceful.

“Yeah, yeah we’re fine. We… it got too hot, we took our uniforms… What the fuck happened?”

“Scotty. Got a bit over excited with the warp coil equations. We didn’t even realise you were down there - it’s like someone locked the sickbay from the inside.”

Bones rounds on Chekov just as he’s managed to pull his pants up and before he can make an accusation he realises the Captain will be coming in and he’s currently in a state of severe undress. He fumbles his fly up on his sweat damp pants and hunts about for his uniform shirt when the door pops open.

“Are you two okay?” Kirk takes in the sight of them both flushed and sweating, an unmistakable hickey blossoming into life over Chekov’s pulse point, a clean line of three scratches across McCoy’s chest, not to mention the series of half-moon marks that are scattered over every inch of his back.

“We’re fine.” McCoy gruffs at him, pushing passed and heading for a cold shower.

“I see.” Kirk smirks and watches Chekov walking funny down the corridor with a huge smile of his angelic face. “I see.”


End file.
